Branded Colours
by mikah7
Summary: The threat of the Dark Lord still looms over Hogwarts with the Second Wizarding War imposing upon the lives of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. To save themselves, they had to save each other. Can the brightest witch of their age really put aside her pain to love a changed man? Rated M for cheeky scenes including foul-mouthed and sassy Hermione and Draco.
1. Chapter 1: The Great Hall

_~ Blaise Zabini~_

 _The Great Hall. Lunch._

Blaise Zabini watched amusedly as his best-friend brutalised his potatoes with a steak knife, cutting them into quarters then eighths before squishing them with the blade. He always had a penchant for playing with his food Blaise recalled. The images of Narcissa pursing her lips at her platinum haired son as he poked his food around flitted to his mind. Draco angrily delivered the coup de grace amidst the battlefield of his dinner plate by stabbing his fork in the slab of beef and twisting. _Scary,_ Blaise shivered.

Draco had been in a foul mood since Potions, Blaise noticed. Every time he asked him what had his wand in a twist, Draco would feistily snap 'your mother'. Blaise would shrug and laugh it off, but he was worried about his best mate. While Draco was the Ice King to everyone else, he'd always been able to soften up to Blaise. Not this time. He watched curiously as Draco lifted his head to gaze from behind the fallen tendrils of his blonde hair. Subtly, he followed Draco's line of sight, one brow cocking as his eyes rested on his best friend's fixation.

 _Most interesting._ He thought.

~ _Draco Malfoy ~_

Damn that filthy little mudblood got on his nerves. She's proper barmy if she reckons that she's going to outdo him in Potions for the third time this year. He'd been itching to have a word with her since she scored higher than him on brewing a Polyjuice Potion. Deep down, Draco wasn't surprised considering the clever witch had brewed one so many times to help her and the rest of the Golden Trio cause all sorts of trouble. Still, Draco fumed. His father would have his head if he discovered that he'd been bested by a mudblood. _Again._

He gazed at her from across the Great Hall. Her wild curls formed a dark halo around her head and her eyes lit up as she spoke animatedly to her tosspot boyfriends, Potty and Weaselbee. Gods, he couldn't wait to destroy those Gryffindorks at the Quidditch match this weekend. In fact, he'd been itching for a proper square-off between Potty for a while now. That idiot Weaselbee, however, was another matter. He watched with disgust as the red-head goof gazed at Granger like a puppy about to receive a treat. Bloody wanker. What was with him and Granger anyway? Were they together? She's much too –

 _Shut up._ Draco reprimanded himself quietly. This was Granger he was talking about for Christ's sakes, she was the scum of the Earth and entirely undeserving of the magic she wielded so skilfully. His left eye twitched as he watched Granger grin at Weaselbee, her face lighting up in a way that made Draco's jaw clench. He stabbed his beef again. Silly mudblood. How dare she intrigue him so?

"She's bloody sexy, isn't she?" A voice mumbled in his right ear, the lechery that dripped from their words caused a nasty smirk to spread itself across Draco's face. "I'd love to give her a go, what do you reckon?"

He cast a sideways glance at Theodore Nott, his brilliant azure eyes and signature tousled chestnut hair was recognisable anywhere. The sneaky bastard was a right git, but one of his best friends. Like Blaise, Nott stood by Draco's side through all the times his father had beaten him when he was younger. He was there then, and he was always there now. Except when he was playing with a new … toy.

Draco suppressed the rush of heat that threatened to climb up his neck. Was Nott talking about Granger? He better not –

 _Shut up, bloody idiot._ Draco begrudgingly thought, his eyes flickering to the Gryffindor table out of panic and habit. "Who, pray tell, do you want to fuck around with this time, Nott?"

Theo grinned and jerked a chin towards the Griffyndor table, his eyes resting on a certain little redhead sixth year who was basically labelled untouchable amongst us Slytherin boys.

Weaselette.

Draco let out a throaty laugh as the youngest of the ginger clan looked up curiously, feeling reptilian eyes on her. "Watch me work my … _magic."_ Theo's malicious grin didn't falter as locked eyes with Weasley, so he raised a hand and wiggled his fingers cheekily. To Draco's surprise, Weasley pressed a hand to her heart as if she was swooning before her face dropped in the most sinister of ways. Smirking, she presented her middle finger. Who knew Weasley was so fiery? Draco's laugh returned as Theo scoffed, his cocky smile disappearing. It was clear that Weasley wouldn't let Theo touch her even if he drank a Polyjuice Potion to make himself look like The Boy Wonder.

Theo sighed, "One day." He slumped in the empty space of the bench next to Draco, his hand moving to scratch the back of his head.

"We'll see, mate." Draco's eyes flickered back to the Gryffindor table, where the youngest Weasel had leant over to whisper something to the Golden Trio. Flogs, the lot of them. Draco eyed the group curiously and gritted his teeth as Granger's wild curls tossed upwards, her eyes meeting his. She cocked an eyebrow at him in a way that he found scarily endearing as she dropped her chin onto a tiny fist. She whispered something to Potty before focusing all her attention on Draco. Her pretty pink lips puckered as she blew him a kiss, wiggling her fingers at him much like Theo had done to Weaselette. Draco refused to falter and didn't want to look like an utter ponce in front of Theo and the rest of the Golden Trio, even though the heat upon his neck intensified. He tried his best to remain calm, ignoring the flutter in his chest as he watched her smirk. She thought she had won.

Draco mimicked her, propping an angular chin onto his fist. Slowly, one eye fluttered shut in a wink – something he'd delivered to very few girls, but only if they didn't fall for his other charms. He felt that Granger wasn't that kind of girl. Pride bubbled in his chest as he gazed at the splotches of red that sought its way up Granger's delicately slender neck. She blanched and averted her eyes, dropping her head downwards and delivering a poor act of focusing on her meal. _How's that?_ Draco thought triumphantly.

Theo clapped him on the back and barked out a hearty laugh. He knew Theo enjoyed a little chase and who better to give him the best of his life other than the cheeky Weaselette?

When he felt like nobody was watching, Draco snuck another glance at Granger. He thought she was pretty. _Beautiful_ even, but would rather _Avada Kedavra_ himself than say it out loud. She wasn't the conventional pouty-lipped and big blue-eyed beautiful either. No. Granger had this air of mystery and intelligence that the other girls he'd been with had lacked, girls like Pansy and Daphne. Her hair fell into a mass of untameable curls, framing a heart-shaped face with deep brown eyes. Her cheekbones had become more defined since First Year and she had grown into a tallish and lithe frame. Draco glared at the muggle-born witch. She was too clever for her own good. Much too arrogant and a goody-two-shoes to boot. She loved rulebooks more than she loved air. She was a Gryffindor. A mudblood.

The worst.

An unfamiliar feeling reared its ugly head in the depths of Draco's… heart? No. Definitely his stomach. He quickly averted his eyes out of fear that someone had seen him fawning over his arch-nemesis like a schoolboy. However, by the way he locked eyes with Blaise in all his cool and dark glory, he felt he had already been discovered.

Blaise was a strange character, unreadable to everyone except Draco. Except this time, Blaise's dark eyes did not relay any sense of feeling. Instead, deep chocolate orbs gazed at him emptily, as if he was mulling over what Draco had accidentally presented to him. Draco's stomach flipped. _He knows,_ Draco thought.

Without warning Blaise's face split into a sinister smile, like a bolt of lightning across a stormy sky. It was a smile Draco only saw when he was about to cause trouble. Lots of it.

Blaise rose with the elegance of a panther and tossed his knife onto his plate. Draco watched anxiously as Blaise's eyes flickered from Granger to him before sauntering over to the Gryffindor table with his usual swagger.

 _Shit._

~ _Hermione Granger_ ~

She listened intently as Ron and Harry enthusiastically discussed the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match this weekend, their hands dipping and diving in the same manner as their brooms above the pitch. She laughed as their hands clashed, their theatrical rivalry erupting into a mass of giggles and shoulder nudges. Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other before rolling their eyes in unison, a mutual understanding of _boys will be boys_ flitting between them.

"Well Harry, are you going to go to Slughorn's Christmas Party next weekend? He's been asking about you… _nonstop."_ Hermione mumbled, feeling a little jealous that Harry was the class favourite and not her. She had to remind herself that he was only good at Potions because he'd had that bloody book. Damn him.

Harry looked up at her cutely, a piece of lettuce hanging from one side of his mouth. He frowned around his food and sighed, "Hmm…. Maybe. I just need to bring a date."

Hermione felt for Harry, she really did. It must be hard for him to find a _normal_ date that wouldn't lower themselves to the likes of Romilda Vane and torment him with love potions. He _was_ the Chosen One, after all. Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at that fact. If this dorky troublemaker was the Chosen One, then Merlin help the rest of them.

"Have you found a date, Hermione?" Ginny asked, her brilliant red hair reflecting the warmth of the candlelit hall. "Surely you have."

Hermione shrugged sheepishly. She had, in fact, found a date but she wasn't so quick as to blurt it out to everybody. She only accepted the git's offer out of a moment of panic. She'd been fidgeting in the library since Slughorn had told her that dates were allowed and just knew that finding one would be a proper challenge. A challenge that Hermione was too anxious to face.

She groaned but continued to laugh as Ron and Harry kept pestering her about who she was bringing to the Christmas party like two protective older brothers. Sometimes it sucked to have the two most famous boys in school acting like her body guards, like she was off limits to the rest of the school.

She jumped as Ginny leant over the table. "Those snakes are glaring at us again, what's their fucking problem?" She hissed across the food, spitting out the words like they were poison.

Hermione looked up from her plate and immediately locked eyes with none other than the foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach himself.

Draco Malfoy.

He was staring at her most intently, paying hardly any attention to the sarcastic and malicious Theodore Nott beside him and Harry and Ron who had looked over their shoulders to glare at the Slytherin gang. She felt herself warped in by the cold, distant storminess of his eyes, the elegant curve of his brow and the slightly full smirking mouth. Merlin, she wanted to knock that look straight off his face with her bare fist. Muggle style.

Hermione digressed. She had already gotten one-up on him in Potions, and wasn't interested in feeling like a brag. Instead, she focused her attention onto Potter. "Watch this."

She slammed an elbow on the table, ignoring the humiliation that threatened to consume her as she felt her elbow tap the edge of a bowl and the warmth of ham and pea soup seeped through her robes. _So not sexy,_ she thought.

She propped a chin on her fist and puckered her lips, blowing a lovely kiss to the leader of the Slytherin posse. She wiggled her fingers delectably, her chest puffing out in pride as her eyes took in the way Malfoy tried to suppress his shock.

Her pride didn't last long though as Malfoy mimicked her actions, one steel grey eye closing in a slow and flirtatious wink. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat and shove down the warmth that crept up her neck. Without even thinking, she quickly averted her eyes. The intensity of his eyes were too much for her girlish side to handle. She glared at her food and pushed it around with her fork.

"Uh-oh. Zabini at 2 o'clock." Ginny grumbled, trying to make it look as though she hadn't spoken at all. Instead, she pushed around her food shyly and tried to avoid any kind of contact with Blaise. Her reaction made Hermione wonder about what it was about Blaise Zabini that made Ginny so touchy and irritable. Perhaps it was the Quidditch rivalry, as they were both seekers and pummelled each other on the field when they both got the chance.

Harry and Ron looked the opposite way Ginny had described, eliciting from the two girls a groan of both amusement and frustration. _Stupid gits,_ Hermione thought.

She watched as Blaise Zabini sauntered towards the Gryffindor table. For him, this side of the Great Hall was uncharted territory, a different kind of world he'd yet to step into. Over here, the atmosphere was warm and felt like a fireplace on Christmas morning. Over on the Slytherin side, Hermione suspected, the atmosphere was cold and reptilian – hardly her type of thing.

She'd hardly spoken to Zabini, except for when Snape decided to pick on her and paired her up with the obsidian-skinned Slytherin in Potions in her First Year. He was intelligent, Hermione knew, and of a more quiet and reserved nature than Malfoy. He was handsome too, with a lean build fit for Quidditch and deep chocolate eyes that reminded Hermione of the hot Milo her mother would make for her on Sunday mornings.

The entire Gryffindor table went silent as Blaise Zabini, a _Slytherin,_ took a seat across from Ginny. Hermione almost giggled as he started piling a plate with purple grapes, picking them up with a fork and slipping them into his mouth. He behaved as if he belonged there, at their table, with us Gryffindors. In fact, he looked absolutely ridiculous in his black and emerald robes amongst the sea of gold and red.

Ginny blushed as Blaise reached over the table and stabbed a piece of left over cauliflower drenched in gravy from her plate and popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving the beet red surface of Ginny's face. Hermione cocked an eyebrow. _Most interesting._

Ron looked at Blaise as if he was a dragon species he'd yet to discover. Hermione guessed that he'd never been this close to Zabini in his life, except for when he was blocking him from scoring in Quidditch. Harry looked at the newcomer with shock before shrugging and digging into his meal. Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was always so welcoming and weirdly oblivious to the dangers a simple Slytherin could pose. Hermione wondered if this was plain stupid or if he purposely encouraged the breaking down of class rivalries. To Hermione, Harry was a book that she couldn't read, much unlike Ron and very much like … Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head to rid the thoughts of her arch-nemesis. She didn't know why he popped into her head whenever he pleased. Perhaps he was using _Legilimency_ on her.

Hermione decided she was too dramatic. As usual.

"So..." Blaise began, popping another grape in his mouth and letting his eyes glide over the Gryffindor group. "How is everyone doing on this fine evening?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder out the window, noticing the bright streak of lightning that cracked through the sky and the heavy pelting of rain drowns against the glass. She snorted. _Of course,_ she thought.

Nobody answered.

Awkward.

"Ugh, I know exactly how you feel." Blaise said, rolling his eyes and feasting on another grape. "Slughorn was an absolute bore in Potions today, don't you agree Hermione?" His eyebrows rose with the tone of his voice at the end of his question, he looked at Hermione as if conversing with her was an everyday and pleasant occurrence.

Hermione cleared her throat from the shock and replied, "I agree. Especially when he was talking about Wolfsbane, as if we haven't learnt all about that from Snape." She shot him a genuine smile, which seemed to shock him. While the others of her house described Blaise as a typical pure-blood radical, he'd never actually exhibited his so-called hatred for Muggles or …Muggle-borns publicly. Sure, he stood behind Malfoy and his gang as they tormented Hermione and her friends, but Hermione supposed it was because he didn't care to get involved.

Blaise seemed shocked at her polite gesture and nodded in agreement. "Exactly! Finally, someone feels my pain. _Draco_ always thought that-"

"Gossiping about me, Blaise? When will you ever learn?"

Hermione attempted to ignore the certain lilt Blaise had as he slipped out Malfoy's name. She tried to act like he hadn't just given her a pointed and almost _knowing_ look when he mentioned him. Instead, she focused aggressively on the tall and lean frame of none other than Draco Malfoy. His tousled blonde hair made him look like he'd just gotten out of bed and barely had time to run a brush through it. He didn't wear the Hogwarts robes, opting for a sleek all-black ensemble that basically screamed 'I'm pureblood and I know it'.

Blaise smirked and looked up at the looming figure of Malfoy who clapped a hand on his shoulder, almost threateningly. "Associating with the Golden Trio, Zabini? Didn't think you were the grovelling type." Malfoy smirked in a way that was dark and beautiful, yet still entirely malicious.

Blaise's smirk continued to widen, as if he had this master plan that he was confident he'd succeed in. He gestured to Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry happily. "Why Draco! Just the _boy_ I wanted to see." The twitch in Draco's left eye didn't go unnoticed by Hermione. "You see Draco, I was just about to invite my new … _friends_ to our celebratory party this weekend. You know, after we win the match?"

At this point, both Harry's and Ron's head snapped up to reveal expressions of determination and offense. "Oh yeah, Zabini? You think you're gonna win already, huh?" Ron asked goofily, puffing out his bulky chest and tensing his arms. Hermione rolled her eyes at the blatant display of caveman strength. So lame.

Malfoy seemed to roll his eyes too before focusing his attention on Ron. "Not his fault for facing the facts, Weasley. Half your team's down with Dragon Pox." He regarded Ron's dumbfounded expression, " _that_ means, you blubbering idiot, that all you have to rely on is your reserves. Which are shit, mind you."

Harry grumbled something under his breath but restrained himself, and by placing a hand on Ron's shoulder, stopped the both of them from doing something stupid like duelling during dinner.

Hermione didn't notice that she was staring at Malfoy until he cocked an eyebrow and said, "Star-struck, Granger?" He winked at her again, a strand of blonde hair falling across his brilliant grey eyes. She scoffed and looked away from him, repudiating herself from revelling in the warm feeling inside her gut.

"Dream on, ferret." She said, eliciting a laugh from her friends and surprisingly, Zabini too.

Malfoy even grumbled a chuckle, "My pleasure."

After a few short moments of silence, Blaise rose from his place and popped a few extra grapes into his mouth. "Hope to see you guys in the Slytherin Common Rooms. Password is _Pureblood_ , don't forget it."

The rest of the Gryffindors rolled their eyes at the blatant prejudice exhibited by the Slytherins. Hermione watched with further curiosity as Ginny and Blaise locked eyes before quickly averting them. Something was going on there, and she swore on Merlin that she would find out. Her inner gossip-girl couldn't take it any longer.

Malfoy lingered at the table, his eyes sweeping over her friends before finally landing on Hermione. She felt him examine her face thoroughly, probably pointing out every flaw in his head, preparing himself for any kind of onslaught if she were to insult him. She half expected him to call her out on her recent break-outs or chapped lips from the cold winter. Instead, he lifted a finger in the direction of her robes.

"Soup." He said simply with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk.

Hermione's back snapped straight as she remembered that she'd spilled soup on her earlier, trying to beat Malfoy and his friend Nott at their own game. She looked down at her robes that were now spotted with bits of meat and peas, a specific meaty scent wafting from her skirt.

 _How embarrassing._


	2. Chapter 2: The Library

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just to be clear, the events of this fanfic are not in the same order as in the books/films. While this takes place in Hermione and Draco's Sixth Year, Hermione has already Obliviated her parents but has not yet hunted the Horcruxes HOWEVER Draco is still under the influence of Voldemort.**

 **I KNOW THIS MAY BE CONFUSING BUT PLEASE BARE WITH ME XXXXX**

 _Library. Morning._

 _Hermione Granger_

She stomped around the library in a huff. _Damn that Ronald bloody Weasley…. bloody idiot… Lavender Brown …. Insufferable bloody bimbo._ She levitated the books she had read for the day into their original places with a sour face like a slapped arse. She'd escaped the common room after pretending that she hadn't taken notice of Ron and Lavender snogging in a corner unlit by the warmth of the Gryffindor fireplace. She couldn't take it in the end though, and had to leave out of fear of vomiting all over Harry who had just looked at her sympathetically and patted her on the back. Damn him for being so bloody nice.

She sought solace in the accommodating dustiness of the library. While Madam Pince was a ruffled old bat Hermione did feel grateful that the old woman had waved her inside, not bothering to point out the single tear that slipped from her jealous eyes. Hermione let herself cry quietly in the Restricted Section before stomping her feet like a baby, refusing to cry over the daft ginger gimp and his pretty blonde harpy any longer. To make herself feel better, Hermione sat at a forgotten desk in the darkest section of the library and created a fortress of books that she hoped would get her mind off the stinking prat. She even resorted to re-reading _Hogwarts: A History_ again.

It only took Hermione a few moments to allow herself to fully relax. She adored the feeling of paper beneath her fingers, the dust that billowed across her vision as she snapped the books shut. She revelled in the quietness of it all and couldn't help but sigh as she relaxed further into the creaky wooden chair. The familiar atmosphere sent a wave of emotion through Hermione, as it reminded her of the happiness her and her family had shared in libraries back in Muggle London. The memory tugged at her heartstrings but did not send a wave of sadness and regret like it had done before. No, Hermione knew that Obliviating her parents was the right thing to do, especially with a war on the rise and the threat of Voldemort neared.

To Hermione, who is considered the brightest witch of her age, Voldemort was a force she had yet to conquer. Gods, she didn't even know _how_ to do it and that bloody well scared her. How could she be the brightest witch if she couldn't figure out how to save the world and the ones she held dear? Even Harry was at a loss, and Ronald was…

First Years giggling about the legendary best-friend of _the Harry Potter_ and his new girlfriend behind a bookshelf broke Hermione out of her save-the-world-at-all-costs reverie and rekindled the furious fire within her. She groaned loudly enough to know that the First Years were not welcome in her section of the library before she rose up and gathered the books in her arms, prepared to put them back as quickly as possible and leave for somewhere that _actually_ freed her from the horror of her teenage crisis.

As she worked her way through the library, setting the books in their rightful places, she wondered about the awkward Slytherin and Gryffindor exchange in the Great Hall the day before. What was Zabini playing at, inviting them to the dungeons? And with that password…

Hermione knew that a stupid password seemed so trivial compared to the whole Voldemort and death and war thing. Yet she couldn't shake the shiver that shot through her as Blaise said 'pureblood' like it was nothing, like it hadn't stood for the worst of society. Granted, she hadn't been called a Mudblood to her face in a while but that still didn't justify the actual _existence_ of the word, or its slanderous uses. This would be something that she would have to change –

"I'll take that, Granger."

A long pale hand grabbed one of her books mid-air and brought it down to rest on top of a levitating pile of scrolls and books, all about Transfiguration and some so old that Hermione couldn't even read the titles.

She cocked an eyebrow as her eyes met Draco Malfoy's molten silver orbs, dark and hiding something. Definitely suspicious, yet entirely characteristic of the blonde ferret before her. He smirked at her, his lips curling in that oh-so-familiar Malfoy way that made her cringe and…

 _Blush?_

Curiosity piqued, Hermione squinted at the book in his left hand. She tried to read the cover and wondered what kind of Dark Magic the blonde git was practicing in order to please his Dark Lord. She glared at him. Typical Death Eater.

"It's French. _Guide avancé d'un assistant pour metamorphisis magique."_ He said arrogantly, her heart lurching at the cut-glass elocution, "in case you didn't know".

Show-off.

Already in a foul mood, Hermione bit back. "Sorry, I don't speak posh…" She glared, "or _prick,_ for that matter." She tossed her mass of curls as she spun away from him, continuing on with her chore of returning her books to their spots.

She furrowed her brow in annoyance when she heard his slow footsteps following her, his freakishly polished and obviously new dragon-hide boots tapping across the creaky floorboards. _Is this guy serious?_ She wondered, levitating _Advanced Arithmancy_ into its rightful place. _Please let him be serious so I can punch him in the nose… again._ She grinned smugly.

She stopped in her tracks and spun around wildly, glaring at Malfoy with the haughty grin still resting on her face. "Malfoy, what do you _want?_ You're following me like a bloody Doxy." She crossed her arms, all but one book gone from her arms. She stared up at Malfoy, his flaxen hair messy and obscuring part of his silver eyes from vision. He wasn't as gaunt and skinny as he was last year when he first became involved with the workings of Voldemort and his tosser of a father, Hermione knew this. Now that she was standing basically toe to toe with the Death Eater Harry and Ron believed him to be, Hermione felt a pang of pity. They were all just kids after all. Even Malfoy. Draco.

A perfect pale eyebrow cocked and his lips curled upwards. "Depends. What _kind_ of Doxy are you referring to?" He winked, "I can assure you that if you have the money on you to-"

She rolled her eyes at his vulgarity and tried to fight the smile that threatened to consume her face. His humour surprised her. She sighed loudly. " _Malfoy."_

Humour was replaced with seriousness. He snapped his French book shut and tucked it between his arm and his ribcage as he stared down at her curiously. He opened his mouth and closed it in a way that resembled a fish as if he himself wasn't sure why exactly he was ghosting her.

"Well?" She urged, losing patience.

Malfoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair in uncharacteristic frustration. In Hermione's eyes, Malfoy was always the epitome of composure and collectiveness - whatever emotion brewing inside of him remained a complete mystery to her.

 _He_ was a complete mystery to her.

She hated herself for being entranced by his enigmatic character. She knew nothing more about him other than the fact that he had a terrible father, a lot of money and the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen-

 _Wait where did that_ _come from?_

"Are you coming to the match this weekend?" He asked. If it weren't for the harsh set of his features, Hermione would've thought he was nervous. In fact, she could've _sworn_ that she'd seen the tips of his ears glow red underneath that mop of platinum.

Her arms fell to her sides at his seemingly harmless question. Was he… was he _genuinely_ asking her if she was coming? No strings attached? No name calling? _At all?_

She struggled for the correct words. "Uh… I mean… Of course. I have to support Harry and-"

The image of Ron and Lavender snogging in the common room plummeted through her mind and the sad, dark glint returned to her eye.

"- Ginny." She grumbled.

If Malfoy picked up on her newfound anger, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he resumed his cocky aura and took a step closer to her. He was so close that the scent of new parchment and cinnamon with a slight hint of sandalwood entrapped her, wrapping her up in a way that reminded her of Christmas at the Burrow and the warmth of a stoked fire.

She looked through her lashes at his chiselled face, his eyes meeting hers in a way that seemed innocent yet hinted at something deeper… darker even. "Wouldn't you rather support the _winning_ team, Granger?" He moved closer to her still, eliciting a habitual step backwards from the nervous witch.

Refusing to let him get the better of her, Hermione took no more steps back. Instead, she stood her ground and scoffed. "I'd much rather support the _better_ team, _Malfoy."_

She concealed her surprise when he threw his head back and chuckled lightly, keeping quiet in case Madam Pince were to tell him off. She'd noticed that Pince had a knack for tormenting him, especially when he –

 _Wait, wait?_

She'd been so caught up with kicking herself over noticing so much about the sneaky little ferret that she didn't stop him from trapping her against the very bookcase she'd been sorting books into. He'd propped his pompous French book on his levitating pile and lightly rested a hand on the books on either side of her head. That strange and alluring smell of parchment, cinnamon and sandalwood assaulted her nose and made her head spin at its subtlety. She had to restrain herself from drawing closer to her captor and drinking in his scent.

"Don't those two normally go hand in hand?" He asked, his voice low and almost predatory. Her heart quivered as an unfamiliar heat built up in her lower abdomen. "You'd look _especially_ endearing in green and silver."

Slowly, he lowered his face down until he was so close that she could smell the freshness of his spearmint toothpaste. Was he… going to kiss her? _Why?_

She inhaled shakily and made an effort of shaking her head as a means of literally tossing his scent from her consciousness, afraid that it would swallow her whole. "T-those colours don't exactly suit my skin tone," she offered weakly as the heat rose from her abdomen to colour her neck and cheeks.

She watched his eyes drop from hers to regard the flush that surely escaped from the colour of her robes. For the first time, Hermione caught a glimpse of _emotion_ in them, though she didn't know what kind. Hermione waited anxiously as his eyes slowly engulfed her expression, drinking in the sight of her pursed lips and furrowed brow before resting on her honey coloured orbs.

She squirmed under his examination and opened her mouth to speak. He'd put her on the spot and kept staring into her bloody soul with those eyes of his and anyone who knew Hermione knew that she was not good with boys. Hell, even Rita Skeeter knew that Hermione and her 'Bulgarian Bon-Bon' wouldn't work _before_ Hermione did! _What do I say?_ She thought. _Have a nice day? I hope that your Transfiguration study goes well?_

For all her intelligence, Hermione Granger failed to say anything remotely so to the greatly intimidating Draco Malfoy. Instead, she opted for possibly the most ridiculous and mortifying response known to witch and wizard. _Ever._

"Not to say that they don't suit anyone, of course! I-I mean… they suit you quite well because your skin tone is quite pale but-but not _too_ pale, more alabaster which is really sought after and nice when you think about it…" Her blush deepened as an amused grin rested on Draco's face, along with a curious glint in his eye as she rambled. "- And silver obviously compliments your eyes which are… r-really gorgeous because t-they're a lovely light grey but strangely enough they grow d-darker when you-"

"Drake, I found that book you were after. _A Wizard's Advanced Guide To Ani-_ uh… sorry?" The voice rose in tone as if his apology was more like a question. Whatever it was, Hermione was glad that the owner of said voice had interrupted her very embarrassing and very _stupid_ prattling.

Her life was officially over.

Hermione peaked over Malfoy's forearm to stare helplessly at Blaise Zabini who stood no more than a metre away from them, a book in his hand and a curious expression on his face. His eyes flitted to Hermione and Draco's position, their close proximity and the heat that had risen further to engulf Hermione's _entire_ face.

Just lovely.

Silence ensued and Hermione brought her eyes back up to Malfoy's face. She took in his blank expression, composed and perfectly disillusioning her from what was _really_ going on underneath that mask of pomposity and arrogance.

For the first time, Hermione found herself eager to find out exactly what made Draco Malfoy so interesting. An experiment, if she willed.

With a sigh, the arms beside her head dropped to fold in front of his chest elegantly. He had released her from the toxicity of his encasement of her and she now had every opportunity to run away from the Death Eater. Instead, something about him and the new aura in the room had forced her inner Gryffindor to plant her feet and stay.

She watched a strange exchange between Malfoy and Zabini – a standoff so intense that she could've sworn that lightning crackled between them. She knew this kind of conversation. In fact, she'd had the same kind many times with Harry and that… that _git._ Of course, it wasn't hard to pull off when you were so close to that person that you could _almost_ telepathically communicate with them. Hermione suspected that Malfoy and Zabini had that same sibling bond that allowed them to understand what each other was thinking without _actually_ reading their minds.

Breaking eye contact first, Malfoy stepped back and refocused his attention to Hermione. Even she saw the shock in his eyes when his hand came up to curl a dark tendril around his finger, as if he hadn't willed his body to do so. Hermione was once more intrigued by the way he slipped on that mask again, the strong and sarcastic façade taking over again.

"Thank you for the compliments, angel," he took a step back and she could finally breathe again. "However, I'm going to have to leave you to such fantasies seeing as _Blaise-_ " He glared at his friend, "seems to desire my attention."

Uncharacteristically wordless, Hermione nodded anxiously and felt muscles she hadn't known were even tense relax. Something flickered behind those silver orbs of his, lighting them up before darkening them in that strange yet intriguing way.

He turned his back on her and followed Blaise, presenting her with a two fingered wave from over his shoulder. "See you at the match."

When she was sure he was gone, Hermione let out a long and over-exaggerated breath that seemed to let go of all the things about Draco Malfoy she had found attractive in that awkwardly intense moment. Strangely enough, Hermione wasn't even scared for her life like Harry and Ron would have expected her to be. But… she was _worse._

She _liked_ it.

She liked his smell and the surprising warmth that radiated off of him. Harry and Ron made him seem like some kind of un-melting iceberg that just stuck around and whose sole purpose was to sink as many Titanics before the year was up. Hell, even she thought he was the epitome of evil in her younger days, back when the worst thing she faced was the derogatory slang that followed her wherever she went.

"See you." She whispered in the secluded space that Malfoy had once occupied, his cinnamon scent still lingering.

 _Slytherin Common Rooms. Evening._

 _Draco Malfoy_

"What are you up to?" Blaise asked, amused yet genuinely curious at his best-friend's newfound infatuation.

Draco crossed his arms and sunk further into the dark green leather chaise, his brow furrowing. Absentmindedly, he itched the tattoo in his inner left forearm.

"What are _you_ up to?" He hissed, glaring at his friend with accusatory eyes and a pursed mouth. "I was in the middle of something."

Blaise, ever the gossiper, raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of _what,_ exactly? I hope you know that the girl you're planning to get 'in the middle of'is _Hermione fucking Granger._ I thought she was Weasley's plaything?"

Draco struggled to fight the growing protectiveness that simpered in the depths of his stomach. He was already agitated today. The Dark Mark had been bloody itching all day, it was utterly insufferable.

That was beside the point. Truth is, he'd seen Granger stomping around like a bloody baby in the Restricted Section through a gap he'd left behind in one of the bookshelves looking for… _information._ He found it rather amusing actually, to witness Hogwarts' Golden Girl throwing a fucking tanty in the middle of the school library.

He'd watched curiously as she willed herself to stop crying, taking care as to not make a single noise as he followed her deeper into the library, towards a section he'd never been to before. It was definitely the sort of section that hadn't been visited in a while, with centuries and perhaps even millenniums old parchments and books shoved in the cases.

He left her to do what she pleased, reading books and whatnot to distract her. To kill some time, he further explored this never before seen section, picking out old books on the _exact_ topic he needed.

Amongst the flurry of dust and Merlin knows what else, Draco spotted an old leather bound book suffocated between two big muddy coloured and poorly maintained novels of something he didn't care about. The book was clearly old, and when he slipped it out of its hiding place, he realised that it was French. He read the title and couldn't believe his luck. Exactly what he was looking for.

Eagerly, Draco sat at an abandoned desk and cautiously flicked through the pages, afraid that the ancient thing would fall apart in his very hands. He drank in the information delectably, despite his French being a little rusty considering his family hadn't the time to visit… because of _him._

At last, Draco had all the information at his disposal to finally be freed of his wretched _Dark Lord._ Gods, even thinking the name made him sick to his stomach. The bastard.

Draco's mind wandered to the Room of Requirement and all the things hidden there, _one_ thing in particular. He'd figured out how to make it work just to get the parseltongue bastard off his back and to stop hinting at slitting his mother's throat if he were not to succeed. Now, the only thing left was to destroy it and escape.

As Draco mulled over his means of freedom, he heard the familiar huff of the know-it-all witch and the expected stomping of her angry little feet. He wondered what had gotten her knickers in a twist and thought about the ginger prat that he'd seen holding hands with that Lavender bimbo in the corridors.

 _A broken heart always needs a Malfoy's touch,_ he thought to himself smugly as he rose from his desk and waved his levitating pile of books along with him, the French book still in his hand.

Even now, sitting in the Slytherin Common Rooms and far away from that little lioness, Draco could remember what she smelled like – jasmine and sugar, the kind of tea that his mother made for him when he felt ill. She was warm too and he hadn't even touched her yet.

 _Yet? You mean 'never'. She's a Mudblood, Draco. Remember that._

Draco schooled his features as his father's voice echoed throughout his mind. It was as if there was a miniature Lucius in the depths of his consciousness that stomped around and _Avada Kedavra_ 'd every remotely pleasant thought in Draco's mind.

But years of Pureblood living had taught Draco that his father was right. Always right. Mudbloods like Granger were tempting, a forbidden fruit to Purebloods such as him. If it weren't for the inferiority issue, Draco told himself, then she would be ripe for the picking.

Except…

 _Shut up._ He thought to himself.

Blaise must've taken Draco's silence for a refusal to speak about anything that related to Hermione Granger. Which it was, but in truth, Draco didn't want to talk at all. He was done explaining himself. Done.

Blaise sighed and dropped the book he'd found for Draco earlier onto the plush emerald rug beneath him. Draco averted his eyes from the seeking pools of chocolate brown that mentally prodded him for more information about what was going on in his head. Blaise was good at that, always had been.

"Well, when you let go of all your daddy issues and decide that you actually _need_ a friend like me, let me know." Blaise tipped his head slightly to one side, grinning like a fool. "My offer won't stand for long, though. I have other… _things_ to take care of."

Draco rolled his eyes as he crossed his ankles and linked his fingers behind his head. He knew Blaise was no fool and that he'd see through him eventually, if he hasn't already. But that was not a one-sided attribute.

"I know what you're doing, Zabini. Don't think that Potty and his merry gang of idiots will like it, either." Draco said in a sing-song voice, a cheeky grin gracing his face as all worry about Hermione Granger fell away. It was Blaise's turn to be examined.

Blaise's smirk faltered for a split second before he shrugged off Draco's warning. "Well, once you're done flirting with a member of said merry gang of idiots, _then_ you can tell me what to do." He loosened the green and silver tie around his neck until it sat nonchalantly below the hollow of his throat, the first two buttons of his shirt coming undone. He sauntered, in that signature way of his, over to the door and without looking over his shoulder at his best friend said, "Goodnight Draco."

When Blaise left the common room for a scandalous little hunt, Draco looked around, making sure that no one else was in the room except him. Slowly, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and peered at the Dark Mark, a glowing red that burned black when _he_ called. Now, it rested faintly against his skin, looking like a normal albeit cult-like tattoo. In truth, if he didn't know what it stood for, he'd actually like it.

Now that its meaning was properly known to him, he hated the starkness of it upon his skin. He wanted to cut it off with a knife. Hell, he would gladly cut his entire arm off if it weren't for the whole impracticality of it. He hated how he could never enjoy time in Italy with Zabini over the holidays, fearful of any wizards or witches catching sight of it at the beach or swimming pool. He would always train for Quidditch in a long sleeve shirt, despite everyone else practicing in singlets and T-shirts. He hated how he couldn't even have a fucking shower without hating _himself._

He wanted to be normal, if not for himself… then for his mother and maybe even –

His mind wandered to the beautiful girl he'd left in the library.

\- Maybe even _her._


End file.
